


Taint It Wonderful

by SturgeonGuy29



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2006-2007 NHL Season, Ass Play, Food Play, M/M, Porn with some plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sidney Crosby's Humiliation Kink, team shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 19:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SturgeonGuy29/pseuds/SturgeonGuy29
Summary: It probably wasn't the weirdest thing Sid had ever felt, but it was definitely in the top five.





	Taint It Wonderful

**Author's Note:**

> yes, sidney crosby did actually sit his bare ass in a giant bowl of ice cream once. yes, i will be haunted by this for the remainder of my days. 
> 
> took some liberties here with timeline and changed the season setting to shake this up a bit for my own amusement, as geno was not actually on the team yet when this happened in real life.
> 
> just in case you are still wondering about the validity of the set-up of this (i'm not kidding, sid REALLY DID SIT HIS ASS IN SOME ICE CREAM), please refer to: spittin chiclets podcast. rob scuderi. 2019, March 20. "Episode 160" [24:30]

It probably wasn't the weirdest thing Sid had ever felt, but it was definitely in the top five.

"They shrivel up yet, Croz?" Whits shouted, parting the curtain and walking into their cordoned off room, arms full of cheap, sloshy beer. Sid would definitely need one of those as soon as he was allowed to get up, maybe even two of them. And a hot shower. And potentially a new name.

"Fuck you," Sid replied, laughing a little. It was an awful retort and he knew it, absolutely pitiful stuff, but who could blame him? His ass was bared to God and the world. Talbo was off to the side taking pictures for fuck's sake. He couldn't really even remember what kind of ice cream it was. Who had even ordered this much? Good lord.

It took about thirty more seconds before Billy pushed him forward, out of the sticky mess and onto his feet. It felt like an hour. There was melted sugar in places he didn't even want to think about. Under the smeared mess of it all he was positive that his ass was flushed a deep, shameful pink.

He stood there for a minute with his pants still down around his knees, shell shocked. Should he pull them up? He couldn't remember where the nearest restroom was. Hopefully he could camp out in the handicap stall and get this sorted out into some reasonable level of clean.

"Pull em up, buddy. C'mere," Brooksy said, patting him on his bare hip and plopping down on the long couch, leaving a big space for Sid to sit down, right between him and Gonch. Sid hurried to get his pants up, not really thinking, grimacing when he thought about handling the laundry later. Probably his asscheeks would be glued to his boxers by the time he got home.

"I need to--" he said, jabbing a hand back toward the opening in the curtain, hopefully in the direction of the men's room.

"C'mon, sit down. Drink a little you champ," Brooksy said, apparently determined to get him to sit down and drink some garbage beer and smile and blush good naturedly about it. Maybe this was part of the hazing, just a continuation of his punishment. It could be worse, really. He would maybe be Captain someday, and it couldn't hurt to get his ego bruised for the good of the team.

He got a beer in his lap when he sat down, something bad and ice cold. He didn't care what. Brooksy was laughing so loud with Scuds that Sid could barely hear anything else. On his other side, Gonch was drinking beer out of an actual bottle like a civilized person and shaking his head. He reached over and patted Sid on the knee.

"Taking one for the team?" Gonch asked.

"You could say that," Sid said, and grimaced again when a glob of ice cream was still inexplicably cold somehow in the space near his balls. Gonch looked right through him like he could see everything. Sid flushed all the way down to his feet.

"Cold," Geno said, leaning over Gonch and raising his eyebrows in Sid’s direction. He was drinking something brightly colored and likely fruity, his mouth wrapped around the straw. Sid kind of admired that Geno never seemed to give a fuck about what he drank--he liked girly, fruity drinks with umbrellas and the guys gave him shit for it and he happily stuffed the fruit garnishes in his mouth and didn’t blink an eye. 

“Yeah,” Sid said, grimacing at him and taking a swig of his beer that tasted not at all like fruit, nowhere close to something that Sid would call ‘good’. “It sure is.” 

Geno started talking to Gonch in Russian, at a clip fast enough that Sid couldn't make out a single comprehensible word. Gonch's brow was furrowed. All around them, the team was shouting, lying draped over the couches like large, muscular slugs. Someone had ordered an inexplicable plate of sushi to the table and LeClair was swallowing them down in whole bites. 

Whatever hazing had gone on was seemingly over with Sid's turn, somehow. Staalsy had gotten off easy and disappeared into the depths of the bar. Even Brooksy and Whits had abandoned him, up on their feet now and comparing dick sizes or something or another, whatever it was that required that many strategically placed hand gestures. 

Sid felt a hand grab his wrist, and he looked up and it was Geno, staring down at him from his full, towering height, his drink discarded and glowing pink on the table behind him. 

“Come,” Geno said, tugging a little at Sid's wrist, as if it would be enough to dislodge him. He craned his head back in the supposed direction of the restroom and then looked back at Sid. Did he think that Sid needed help finding it? 

Guys didn’t usually travel to the restroom in packs, in Sid’s experience, but he did need to go, and it was probably best to go when the guys weren’t paying him much mind, before they decided that he needed to sit in his sticky, sugary mess a little longer for good measure. 

They walked together in the dark, past curtains and people smelling of nauseating cologne. Sid could feel the crunchy, uncomfortable feeling of his underwear and jeans sticking to the skin of his ass. He would probably have to throw these jeans away. 

The restroom Geno took them to was single occupancy, but he pushed Sid into it with a hurried “go, go,” and clamored in after him and latched the door. There was a urinal on one wall and a toilet with a nearly enclosed stall. It was kind of weird to follow your friends into the restroom, but maybe Geno just had to piss and couldn’t wait. 

But Geno didn’t move to unbutton his fly or step any closer to the toilet. He hovered awkwardly by the door for a second and then gestured to where Sid’s shirt was still half untucked and his pants hiked up awkwardly. “Help?” he asked, his brow furrowed. 

“Um, I--” Sid replied. Did he need _help?_ With what? Getting the hardened dairy out from the depths of his ass? He felt his cheeks flame, unwanted, at the thought. He imagined Geno’s huge hands holding his cheeks apart, swiping a towel across the curve of his ass, and down in between. His dick twitched a little about it, like the traitor that it was. Fuck, this was so dumb and embarrassing. 

“I help,” Geno repeated, and put his hands on Sid’s sides and bullied him around until he faced the mirror. Sid looked at his own face, his red cheeks, flushed from more than just alcohol. Geno was looking too, down the line of his back and then directly into Sid’s eyes. Sid gave him a weak smile. He wasn’t sure at all why Geno wanted to help him with this, but maybe that’s just a thing they did where he was from. He was being--friendly, a good sport.

“Sure, uh--” Sid said, and reached up to scratch at the back of his neck. “If you want.” He tried not to think about why he was okay with it, lest he literally burn to a crisp on the spot. 

Sid turned on the tap and ran his hands under the cool jet of water and splashed it on his face. He left the water running and zoned out a little listening to it sluice down the drain. 

“I’m gonna take these off, I think,” he said, looking up at Geno through the mirror, Geno’s reflection shrouded a little by the splatters and fingerprints littering its surface. “I’ll uh, you can get some--” Sid looked around the room and saw a hand dryer where a paper towel holder might have been. “You can get some toilet paper, I guess.” 

Geno held his gaze for a moment and then looked down to where Sid’s thumbs were hooked in his own waistband. Sid thought perhaps he hadn’t understood, which was silly because Geno understood a lot, usually more than he let on. Sid didn’t think toilet paper was too complicated. 

But Geno turned and went into the small cubby stall and came back with a wad of toilet paper, wrapped in a large mass around one hand like a puffy cotton candy stick. 

“You’re gonna kill a whole tree like that,” Sid said, laughing a little. 

Geno wrinkled his face up in confusion. “Tree?” 

“Yeah, you know, like--” Sid began to explain. But it was irrelevant, really. There were more pressing matters at hand. “Nevermind,” he said. “I’m gonna.” He looked down at the water rushing into the sink and and tugged his jeans and his boxers down in one go, quick and dirty like he always did in the locker room, before he lost his nerve. It had been years since he’d really been squeamish about his body, or about flaunting it mindlessly in front of the other guys, but he felt squeamish now: hot in his belly, skin crawling. His heart was beating like a rabbit’s, pressing urgently against the skin of his chest. 

“How bad is it?” Sid asked, when Geno didn’t move or say anything for a moment. When Sid looked at Geno’s eyes in the mirror, they were trained straight down at Sid’s bare ass, at whatever mess his unfortunate ice cream hazing had left. His boxers had ripped at his skin a little going down, like an old bandaid. If he flexed a little he could feel that some of it had dried. 

“Bad?” Geno asked, and considered him for a moment longer. “No, not bad.” Sid could see a hint of a smile spreading across Geno’s face where his head was bowed. He felt Geno’s paper-covered hand come to rest against the highest part of his ass, where his shirt hem still fell. 

“Um,” Sid said, when Geno left his hand where it was, fingers spread wide. It was warm even through the covering. He hoped Geno didn’t notice that he was a little hard, his dick twitching against the cool porcelain of the sink edge. “Here, give me some--” He twisted around a little to pull Geno’s hand forward and ripped off some of the toilet paper from his cocooned hand and ran it under the tap until it was a wet rag, dissolving a little in his grip. 

Geno’s hand fell back to his own side when he released it and Sid reached around with the wet paper and ran it over the parts of his cheeks where he could feel the cream crusting over, down and around a little, as much as he could manage with his arm twisted awkwardly behind his back. 

Deep down, he wanted Geno to do it, wanted him to swipe across the skin, to reach the places Sid couldn’t, to linger a little too long. But even though Geno had offered and he was _here_ shamefully watching Sid clean his own _ass_ , it felt weird to just ask. How would he even word it? He couldn’t. 

But Geno put a hand on Sid’s wrist when he tried unsuccessfully to reach down under the soft part of his cheeks, straining a little. 

“Sid, stop,” Geno said, and he peeled off some more of the paper and reached under the faucet to wet it and brought it back to Sid’s ass. “Let me do.” 

Sid let out a long breath, and threw the dirty wet paper glob into the trash bin at his feet, and bent forward a little, resting his elbows on the sink. His face burned thinking about the picture it made, his ass stuck out obscenely, his pants and underwear wound around one ankle. God.

“Okay, cold--” Geno said from behind him, and put both hands on Sid’s ass, one spreading him open a little, the other wet and cold, running over the places Sid had already cleaned at first and then down toward the places he couldn’t reach: inside the cleft of his ass, and underneath, toward his balls and his hard dick. 

Geno’s hand was huge, and it felt larger than life, better than Sid had imagined it would. He listened to the rush of the water and the voices chattering just outside the locked door. He thought about his teammates watching him drop trou earlier, laughing and hooting about his misfortune. What would they say now? All but presenting himself for Geno’s gaze and his hands, his dick drooling while Geno scrubbed some weird mix of strawberry, vanilla, and who knows what else from his balls. 

When Geno swiped over his hole, his fingernails catching it a little on the way, Sid couldn’t help but let out a particularly embarrassing moan. “Fuck, uh--” he said, chewing roughly on his lower lip to stop himself from moaning louder and longer. “How’s it coming? It’s okay if you don’t get everything, I can--”

“It’s good,” Geno said, and bent down, out of view in the mirror, ostensibly to inspect his handiwork, which Sid felt a little weird about. He didn’t need to be _spotless_ , he just needed to be able to sit on his ass for the rest of the night.

Instead of the wet touch of the toilet paper, though, he just felt Geno’s hands spreading his cheeks open, one on either side, exposing him to the cool air coming in from the cracked window. He could feel his hole twitching where Geno’s hands were pulling at his skin. 

“Clean,” Geno said, like maybe he _was_ just observing, but didn’t try to move his hands. 

“Oh, well, uh--good,” Sid said. His shoulders were tight from holding himself up. The wind coming in from the window was getting draftier and he felt his skin pimple up like gooseflesh.

Geno pressed a single, tentative kiss to Sid’s cheek, in the space between his finger and thumb, and Sid thought his knees might give out. He’d had a few aborted, exploratory experiences with guys in junior but nothing like--he knew about it, of course, but he’d never. 

But Geno’s kisses didn’t stop there. He kissed Sid on the other cheek, and then up higher, right in the center of his lower back. His mouth was thick and warm, a little dry. Sid could feel him breathing for a long moment, slow warm gusts of it, and then Geno put his mouth on him again, his lips wet this time, right over his hole, where he was twitching and sensitive from the rough brush of the paper and the cold shock of the ice cream that had been caked there. 

Geno mouthed at him a little, like maybe he thought Sid needed it, or maybe like he wasn’t sure what he was doing. Sid had no idea; maybe this was just how it went. But when he opened his mouth to lick over Sid’s hole, and then down lower and back up, dragging the wide flat of his tongue, Sid thought there was no way that Geno didn’t know what he was doing at least a little. His thighs felt like jello. He couldn’t believe that Geno was just--Sid was going to crumble into dust and die, right here in this nightclub restroom. 

“Geno, shit--” Sid said, groaning a little and bearing down on his arms, pressing his ass back into Geno’s mouth and feeling his cheeks flame. Geno’s hands dug deeper into his ass, probably leaving little crescent moons in the skin. Maybe he would bleed a little, if Geno held hard enough. 

Geno was good with his tongue, and maybe he wasn’t a pro, but it was enough for Sid, who had never really even touched himself back there for longer than a few curious seconds. He was going to come so hard, all over the sink and the floor.

The hands holding his ass slid down to grip his legs, pressing his thighs out until Sid got the hint and shuffled a little, spreading them open to make more space. Geno shouldered his way in, close enough that if he got any closer they might become one whole person. He licked a strong stripe over Sid’s hole, and then mouthed down to his balls, putting one and then the other in his mouth. Outside, Sid could hear a tire screeching on the pavement. Inside the club, someone was banging on the door, a sound that Sid had been tuning out and only then registered. 

Fuck. 

“Geno,” Sid said, trying to get his attention. The last thing he wanted was for some of the guys or some stranger to burst in and find him pants-down with Geno's mouth buried in his ass. Sometimes being embarrassed shot through him like hot fire, but maybe blatant, public exhibitionism was a step too far.

Geno held on, ignoring him. “Fuck, c’mon,” Sid said, more urgently, craning his neck around to look at the thick messy swirl of Geno’s hair, his long, nimble hands gripping Sid’s hips. “I think they’re gonna.”

The knocking was getting more intense now--the conversation from the hallway filtering in a little--but so were Geno’s efforts, and Sid’s dick, drooling steadily and deep red. Geno muttered something in Russian that Sid couldn’t understand, and pulled off a little and bit the meat of Sid’s ass, his mouth sloppy wet. Sid groaned and gripped himself around the base, trying hard not to come, hoping that whoever wanted in would just give up and go away. 

“Sid, Sid,” Geno said, laying another wet, open kiss on Sid’s ass, his breath thick and audible. Sid spun to look at him: his swollen mouth, his damp shirt collar, his dick hard in the open fly of his zipper. Had he unzipped while his face was buried in Sid’s ass? How had Sid missed it? Fuck. 

Geno’s dick was big, bigger than any dick that Sid had touched. It was pink and shiny where the tip peeked through his foreskin. Sid dropped gracelessly to his knees, eager to get his hands on it. The floor of the restroom was filthy, wet with sink water and spilt beer, which Sid couldn’t bring himself to care about literally at all.

“Can I?” Sid asked, hand halfway to Geno’s dick. He felt dumb even asking; it was clear that Geno wanted to be touched, and why couldn't it be by Sid’s hand rather than his own?

“Yes,” Geno said. “Do it.” Sid took him in hand. He was blood-hot, swollen and sticking through the opening in his briefs. Sid slid his hand down the length until the material bunched up at the base, exposing all of him. 

“I like,” Geno said, looking down at where Sid was jerking him off, twisting a little over the head the way he usually did to himself. Geno’s lip was sucked between his teeth, deep red. Sid wanted to put a hand under his chin and tip his face up and--

“Shit, you’re so--” Sid said, putting his free hand against his own dick, twitching a little as he pressed it up against his own stomach, feeling precome smear over his belly where his shirt was rucked up, close to the edge. This was so hot, all of it, the reality of how fucking weird it was, the dumb hazing, the dirty restroom. And it was so ridiculous that it was getting him off but it really, really was. 

And _Geno_ was so hot, in a way that Sid hadn’t really considered before. He had sly, confident hands. His mouth might feature in Sid’s spank bank for the rest of the season, and maybe even into the summer. Geno’s general favoring of Sid was beginning to make much more sense: the way he tried a little, and put up with Sid’s desire to talk to him and smiled and mostly didn’t complain. Had Geno been thinking about this? Well maybe not exactly this, but something: the nebulous idea of them together. 

It was good. Sid was certainly thinking about it. And maybe if he wasn’t too embarrassed about the whole thing later he would try to do it again. 

When Geno looked up, he smiled a little, a funny smirk full of crooked teeth. He raised his hand to his mouth and licked the palm and when he put it on Sid’s dick, cupped over Sid’s own hand, Sid thought he might come on the spot. 

“Oh, jeez,” Sid said, clamping his eyes shut for a second and then opening them again, looking at Geno’s focused expression all trained on Sid, knowing he was too close. Sid let his hand fall away as Geno took over, and clearly Geno had been paying attention, because he pressed Sid against his belly, trapping his length, and slid up and down with a wet palm until Sid was shaking and groaning and screwing his cheeks up embarrassingly as he came. It got all up his abdomen and Geno smeared his hand through the warm mess of it. Sid’s dick tried valiantly to get involved again as Geno's hand swiped over his skin, twitching and throbbing as it went soft. 

“I, uh--” Sid said. He felt dumb, washed over with orgasm. His hand was still a loose fist on Geno’s cock. Water rushed from the faucet and around in between his ears. At some point, the knocking had stopped, and Sid was grateful that they would perhaps be left alone to finish what they had started and clean off and sneak out in a cloud of their own hot, giddy embarrassment, back to answer to Talbo's curious gaze.

“Sid,” Geno urged, thrusting a little into Sid’s lazy grip. “C’mon.” He smiled again, and bit his lip and leaned back on his hands, presenting the long shape of his body for Sid to work over and admire, pleased like an overgrown cat now that he’d made Sid come. 

“Okay, yeah,” Sid replied, and shuffled forward a little into the cradle of Geno’s knees. “I got you.” Sid's breath came short; everything about this was so stupid and thrilling. Sid wondered if every one of their teammates would know what they had been doing. Maybe they assumed the both of them had left back to the safety of the hotel, but their wet, wrinkled pants would no doubt give them away. 

“Tight,” Geno said, when Sid clenched down a little harder. “Good, I like.” He was biting his lip again, his mouth a wet mess, dick drooling steadily over Sid’s fingers. Sid kept his grip snug and watched Geno’s face flicker from smug into scrunched up, his eyes invisible lines, his nose twitching to one side. 

“C’mon, you should come,” Sid said, “You’re so hot. I wanna see it.” Geno whispered something quick in Russian that sounded impolite, and then fumbled a little, his palms sliding around on the wet floor. Sid pressed his thumb over Geno’s slit the next time he reached it, and Geno moaned so loud that Sid was worried someone might hear them, out in the parking lot beyond the cracked-open window. 

Geno came in barely three more strokes, come dribbling out over Sid’s hand. Sid felt entranced by it, even though it looked just like his own, basically. He’d come on himself plenty of times; it shouldn’t have been so novel. But he wanted to see it again. Preferably soon.

They both looked down at Geno’s come cooling over Sid’s palm, and then Geno picked up Sid’s hand by the wrist and set his mouth over the join between Sid’s thumb and pointer finger, licking at his own release. Sid’s legs were so fucking sore from the hard concrete tile, but he could barely feel them, his whole body tingling watching Geno clean him up, his tongue darting out over Sid’s skin. Sid was never going to stop thinking about this, surely not until the end of his career. 

“Um,” Sid said, after a moment, bracing to stand up, sliding his ruined jeans and boxers back up his legs, the fabric still uncomfortably damp in ways he didn’t want to think about. Geno was still on the floor with his pants pulled open. “Here.” Sid reached out to tug him up to his feet, his heart thudding in his chest as Geno regained his footing and their bodies swayed closer together. Should he help Geno button up? Should they leave separately? He felt unsure suddenly, even though just a moment ago he'd had his hand on Geno's most sensitive parts. 

“Thanks,” Geno said, reaching a hand out to brush at Sid’s ear and the hair curling there. “Cute.” Sid was sweaty all over his face, and he was sure his hair looked really stupid, probably not cute at all. Geno was smiling at him, though--that messy half-smile. Sid felt eighty thousand feet tall. 

“Uh, thanks,” Sid replied, because his brain cells had melted into useless soup, “for helping me clean up or whatever, and, uh--” 

Geno’s hand was still cupping Sid’s ear, fingers tangled in his damp hair. “No problem,” he said, “I like.” Sid flushed at that, thinking about all the things it implied. Probably Geno _would_ want to do it again, sometime, if Sid asked him. 

Someone knocked twice on the door, startling them both. “Maybe we should--” Sid said, thumbing in the direction of the exit, and then continued, maybe before he lost the nerve to. “Maybe later we can, you know.” 

“Okay,” Geno said, and smiled wider, and ducked his head down to put his puffy, wet mouth to Sid’s, open just enough that Sid wanted more and knew he would be thinking about it until it happened. He would relive all of it, the shame and the weird mess, all the nonsense, for this moment and the promise of a future of _more_ moments, more chances with Geno. “Later.”


End file.
